1	A Journey By Train »
The rain has only been falling for a little while; there is still a dry odor in the air as if the damp hasn't yet soaked into the ground and the plaster of the dilapidated station. The rain is a curtain of beaded silver . . .
2	That Which Grows In The Black Loam of The Mind »
The alleys surrounding the clinic are filled with black garbage sacks. They are stacked negligently and precariously, and the path through the narrow alleyway is convoluted. I don't dare touch any of the bags . . .
3	The Scenic Route and the Numbers Station »
The interior of the cab is done up in walnut paneling and leather with a raised paisley imprint. Thin threads of smoke drift from the silver incense cone mounted on the dash . . .
4	The Reading »
She sits on the divan in the center of the library, her tiny feet tucked under the hem of her skirt. Her eyes are too deep, too blue, too distant, for her tiny face. Her mouth moves out of sync with her words . . .
5	Building the Perfect Man »
His hawk mask is an explosion of black and brown, and shards of ivory peek through the profusion of feathers. His robe, a mosaic of lizards, flows about him like a mist held in place by geometric theory . . .
6	A Game of Chess »
The board is laid into the stone of the peak, and the edges merge so seamlessly with the rock that it seems like it has always been here—an ordered geometric extrusion. Eight by eight as an oversized magic square . . .
7	The Funeral of the White Queen »
The light streaming through the curtains is pale, and what glitters through the gaps in the fabric is crisp and undiluted. I lean over, swaying in time with the motion of the carriage, and peek through the curtain on my right . . .
8	Deepdark »
They're all gone, the brine-soak says, dissolving the bond between the vowels and the consonants. The curves become fluid, and the hard lines melt into a smear of pickled darkness . . .
9	The Fields of Elysium »
The gnarled tree leans precariously, its twisted branches reaching for the tall wheat as if to brace the bent trunk against the swaying grain. The crown of the tree has been split by lightning . . .
10	Into the Subtext »
When I land on an invisible plane, I find mirrors. Rows of them, hanging in perfect lines as if someone has removed the walls of the gallery, as if the building, the block, and the city around them have become invisible . . .
11	The House of Cards »
I open the box. Inside are the scattered leaves of broken cards, shards of images jumbled together in an incoherent mess. I pick up a piece, and it isn't a playing card any more . . .
12	Revolution »
I bring the rain with me, a silver curtain dogging my heels as I step into the dream. The water adds color to the dilapidated train station: green and rust to the struts of the vault over the tracks, red and blue to the blocky engine, silver and brown to the tile of the platform . . .